Get what you need
by CigaretteSmoker
Summary: ...because you can't always get what you want.


Strong language, heavy situations and bad attitudes from the start. Slash.

Dallas struggles with his sexuality, while obsessing over Tim.

* * *

"What you looking at, fag?" you ask, not once thinking you should stop what you're doing even though Merrill's burst into your room.

No.

Even as Buck stands there in the doorway glaring at you, your attention is still drawn to the squeaking bed springs and that low, rumbling voice echoing through from the room next door. The paper-thin walls do nothing to hide the sounds of him. Barely inches away. Fucking someone else.

"Takes one to know one," Merrill smirks, eyes following the smooth up and down motion of your right hand as he pushes the door shut behind him. "Rent's due."

"And?" You grin at him.

"I'm here to collect. I ain't running no fucking charity; you know you can't stay here for free." Buck folds his arms, unfolds them again and does his best to look tough. He might be a few years older than you, but the way he's shifting from foot to foot is enough to confirm you're the one in control right now. That you're gonna get what you want. Well, not exactly. But as close as damn it.

You shrug, letting go of yourself and picking up the smouldering joint from the ash tray beside you. Taking a long, deep drag, you inhale, exhale slow as you can. Through the smoke you see his hands twitching at his sides, know he wants to touch you.

"Maybe..." You raise an eyebrow at him, as your hand drifts south again. "I ain't got no dough left."

"What, you spent all your share of the rodeo winnings already, Winston? How much weed did you buy offa that cowboy?"

You shrug again, not letting on that your money is rolled up tight in a sock, tucked in the back the dresser, that you've more than enough squirrelled away in there to pay him ten times over. No. You carry on with the same damn charade you've been acting out since that day you spied him out back the stables and discovered he was as twisted as you. So you act as though this is a one off and pretend you're both only doing it because there's no other way for you to pay your debts.

Stepping closer, you place one hand in the middle of his chest and push him back against the door. And as you sink to your knees, your fingers are already working his jeans open. Then your mouth is on him, as his fingers rake grip your hair. _Queer_. Your daddy's voice rips through your mind. You're going straight to hell.

Buck's breathing is heavier, more ragged, and you can tell he's nearly there. From the corner of your eye, you get a glimpse of the two of you in the dresser mirror, and from this angle you can't see his jutting chin or snaggletoothed grin. From the neck down they share that same build, lean, muscular. Similar enough that it could almost be him. His voice echoes again, intoxicating as whiskey. Screwing your eyes tight shut, you tell yourself it's Shepard standing in front of you, that its his narrow hips your nails are cutting into as he grinds against you, hot skin on hot skin.

And that thought alone is enough to make you come undone as Buck grunts out a loud "Oh, God!", his hips slowing, his need for you spent and your debt paid in full.

For now, anyway.

He instantly moves away, already tugging at the zipper of his jeans.

There ain't nothing gentle about the two of you, but then you ain't looking for gentle. Not when you can feel this good. Better than booze or drugs or any of the countless girls you've ever bedded have made you feel. And if something can make you feel like that, then why would you ever want to stop? Hell, even the prospect of eternal damnation ain't enough for you to give this up.

It ain't even that you don't like girls.

You like fucking them well enough. Especially girls like Sylvia. Girls who ain't afraid to let you know what they like and can give as good as they get. Girls who give good head. And man, can she. That girl is more skilled with her mouth than anyone else you've ever met.

But girls always want more. Want you to be in charge. Want promises and commitment and far more of yourself than you've ever wanted to share with them. Even easy girls like Sylvia.

Buck's pulling open the door, disappearing down the hall. Smirking and laughing out a hello as he passes someone on the dingy landing. Bulb went weeks ago, but maintenance ain't one of his strong points. Not even with all the cash he must be raking in, renting out rooms by the hour.

And then the door next to yours opens and he's there. Kissing some broad, one hand cupping her ass, whispering a goodbye as sets her in the direction of the stairs and turns to study you. Eyebrow raised as he glances between you and Buck's vanishing figure, eyes flicking from your shirtless chest, down to the jeans hanging too low on your hips, top button still unfastened. And now it's you shifting uneasily, wondering if you reek of sex. If he has the first clue what youve been doing to Buck—or how damn much you enjoyed it.

"Goddamn it, Winston. You making enough noise in there? What was going on? Sounded like someone was getting murdered."

"Why?" You flash a grin at him, baring your teeth as you picture him on the other side the wall, listening to you, turned on by your own wanton moans as he fondled some girl's tits. "Did we disturb you and Betty? She gonna go tell everyone how Tim Shepard can't get it up?"

"Fuck off, Dal. Ain't no one gonna hear no complaints from her." He shoves you back against the wall, his calloused palm rough against the skin of your throat, but he's smirking at you, eyes dancing, clearly still on a high from his recent exploits with Betty Evans. "Just wondered what was going on is all."

You shrug. "Rent was due."

By rights you should be shoving his hand away, 'cause no one lays a hand on Dallas Winston and walks away unharmed. But all you can think of is how damn close he is, how you can smell the scent of him. Some musky cheap cologne mingling with Kools and even cheaper whisky. And yet again the stiff denim of your jeans is feeling too damn tight , leaving you with the overwhelming desire to let them pool back by your feet, let him see all of you.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. You know how Buck is, has to throw his weight around and make a drama outta nothing. Some reason he didn't appreciate me spending my dough on some fine grass." You smirk up at him, still buzzed enough that you ask him out loud. "Still got some left, Shepard, if you wanna come share a joint with me?"


End file.
